Marksmaid
by Pheo the Flame
Summary: It all starts the day Mello gets his hands on the Death Note for the first time. Ross, unsure whether or not the note is real, hires the Marksmaid, an assassin who calls herself Laura, to finish off his intended target just in case. However, when Ross is killed, Mello decides to keep Laura nearby. Not only to protect himself, but Matt as well. MxM later on, follows original plot.
1. Chapter 1

**Marksmaid**

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note. I do not own Mello, or, sadly, any chocolate. Or leather.

…

The redheaded figure slipped down the alleyway, breathing raggedly. It wasn't used to running long distances. Panting and trying to catch its breath, the figure leaned against the wall. Maybe they wouldn't follow.

Footsteps pattered on the slightly wet cement. Normally, the pursuer was silent, but now they were in a hurry. _Looking for me, _the redhead thought, trying to ease the ragged breath entering their battered lungs.

But the pursuer heard the breath. Or maybe, it heard the heartbeat. It was not human, and the redheaded target certainly was no more than just that. The final words the redhead heard were these: "Targets are not but targets, and I am not even that." It sounded as though this not-so-silent pursuer was trying to reassure itself. The redhead quivered as a gun was raised by the pursuer.

The trigger was pulled, and the pursuer ran.

…

The Marksmaid was hiding; waiting for her target. She was silent, bent and contorted into a position that would cause anyone else to wince just glancing at her. She slid in and out of shadows, only her eyes shining with any sort of brightness. This was what she loved. She'd snuck into the hideout early this morning (quite a feat in itself) and wedged herself up in the first hiding spot she'd deemed suitable. The Marksmaid wasn't very picky. She'd been sent to kill a thief who'd been selling what he stole behind someone's back; that was all she had been told, but for a description of her target.

The Marksmaid didn't need to know. She didn't care. She locked away all curiosity, all emotion, and channeled it through one source: a long, black rifle. She was more of an assassin than a sniper, but preferred to go by the latter title; she was quite fond of guns. There had been other orders from her current employer, but she would consider them when the time came. After all, they were a bit risky. There was also the issue of the hostage downstairs, who she'd briefly seen when coming in, but she couldn't dwell on that. It seemed as though her target was in the building, but not in the room as she had hoped. The only person she could see was a blonde boy in full leather. He didn't strike her as the type to associate with the Mafia, but she wasn't one to judge. He seemed to be speaking to someone through some sort of one way radio, but she wasn't paying much attention. Where was her target?

_Breathe, _she told herself, _More people are coming in. See? Wait… that's him! Okay… now I was supposed to watch him for about five minutes… no, he said six. _She silently twisted around to get a better aim, everyone was facing away from her; she didn't have to worry much about being spotted.

The blonde (who seemed to be not only the youngest, but also some form of boss) spoke into the same microphone he had been a minute earlier, only switching channels. The Marksmaid slipped her finger over the trigger, silently taking aim at the target that would die in less than two minutes. She had stopped thinking about targets as people. In fact, she'd stopped thinking of herself as a human. She was an extension of the gun she held, and targets were naught but targets. If she hadn't thought this way, she would have died of sheer guilt.

One minute to go. Now only thirty seconds –the target collapsed, a choking gasp emanating from his lips. The Marksmaid only barely suppressed one herself, and she drew further back into the shadows as people began to turn. The boy, who couldn't be much older than she herself was, did not move. _Oh God… what was that? It looked like… like… _She couldn't even think about Kira. The murderer plagued her thoughts and dreams enough as it was, and she was sure that she was one of his more sought after targets. There was a small flurry of noise, throughout which the boy remained calm.

A moment later, he said: "Get that thing on the missile. Don't touch it." The Marksmaid decided that now was as good a time as any to literally 'drop in'. So, slipping her rifle onto her back, she dropped noiselessly to the floor.

At least, she would have dropped noiselessly to the floor if she hadn't landed on the hand of the now dead target. The sound of bones breaking was much too audible for her liking in the room, and this time, the boy glanced up. Almost instantly, there was a gun pointed toward her head. "Hey," she said brightly. She'd always been polite, especially when she was about to pull a knife on someone. She'd found that it was quite disarming to see a sweet, polite sixteen year old with a sniper's rifle strapped to her back.

Unfortunately, he didn't fall for it. "Who are you?"

Now her employer, a man with an odd mustache (and one of the few who had come to see her personally and left without being killed) spoke up. "Mello, this is the Marksmaid." The boy, 'Mello', didn't seem pleased.

"I've never been fond of assassins," he said.

"And I've never been fond of leather wearing, chocolate eating transsexuals, but you aren't hearing me complain, now are you?" Mello glared daggers at her, but she continued. "And I prefer not to be called an assassin. 'Assassin' is such a messy word, don't you think? I prefer the term 'sniper'; much cleaner. Oh, and please call me Laura, 'Marksmaid' is quite tiring." Laura had, while saying this, slid a knife out of its sheath on her arm and held it in a way that allowed it to be thrown at a seconds notice. But that notice never came.

"Laura, Mello, calm down." Laura recognized the voice of her employer and froze.

"Ross, who is this?" Mello snapped. "Don't tell me _you _hired her?"

"On the off chance that notebook was a fake, I still wanted him dead. And Laura will be an… interesting addition to those who are already here."

Laura grinned. "And, with me here, none of _you _have to worry about being killed. Because believe me, I have never failed to kill a target unless I was paid more to let them live." She slipped the knife back into its sheath and pulled off the mottled black floor length cloak she was wearing. She wore black gloves that extended past her elbows, loose black jeans, a black tank top and plain black boots. Her hair was black, but it looked as though it had been dyed, and brushed against her shoulders. Her skin was sickly pale and her eyes appeared to be slightly sunken in, lined with black-blue lines from lack of sleep.

"Get out," Mello said tiredly.

"I'll pass," she replied, a hint of laughter in her voice. "After all, I won't get paid if I don't stick around, and I haven't been particularly busy lately…" A note of sadness crept into her voice. "So, what say you? I'll stay, and I'll kill whoever you wish."

"No," Mello said. "I can't believe you even got in here. Now get out." Laura shrugged indifferently.

"Alright then… but don't be surprised if you're dead by morning, you're name's one of the most wanted around. Now that I know who you are…" She laughed gently, drawing a finger across her throat, before walking out the back door.

"Let her walk out," Mello said. "Now, it's a bit delayed, but we've got to get rid of the helicopter." It only took a moment for the switch to be pressed, and the helicopter to spin to the earth in a twisted chunk of burning metal.

The body on the floor lay forgotten.

…

Laura stepped out into the fresh air. Her attire often earned her strange glances, but she was used to posing as a Goth and people seemed to accept it. She lived nowhere and everywhere; never staying in the same place for too long, never sleeping for more than an hour at a time. She was slightly put out by Mello's blunt refusal for help, but she didn't dwell on it. She never did. What was a bit more pressing of a matter to her was when or if she'd get paid. Laura was not exactly poor, but she wasn't well-off either. She didn't have a dependable job, having yet to find a place that would hire an assassin (she hated the title, but she was just as adept with poison and knives as she was with guns) for a non-killing job, and, being a woman, she wasn't exactly in demand as a sniper, despite the facts that she was lithe, flexible and completely silent when she wanted to be. She had resisted torture, starvation, and other things that she refused to think about, including a very close brush with the CIA.

Needless to say, Laura was not a very popular person. She was constantly on the run. Until today, she had never been seen in front of a group of more than two people. And even now, she was regretting that choice. Mello hadn't even hesitated before pulling a gun on her. _And you were careless, _she chided herself. _In the future, don't make fun of clients. _But it was an old habit, one she was used to using as self-defense. If she could just distract a client for long enough, she would get out of a deal unscathed. She would befriend targets and put a blade between their ribs in a week; sometimes as little as a day. She was not sane; not in the way most people were. With a quiet chuckle, she slipped back into the place she had just left. The current headquarters of the Mafia would be a fun place to explore, especially if she wasn't welcome.

…

"Mello," Rod Ross's low voice echoed slightly when he spoke, making it impossible to comprehend what he was saying unless you were paying attention to only him. "She'll come back you know." There was a tiny, almost inaudible creak of a door in the background.

"I wouldn't be surprised," Mello replied, "But sometimes people are more persistent when it appears they aren't wanted." He nodded over towards the door. "Come in, please, and do note that I notice quite a bit more than most people."

"Sure you do," Laura snapped back sarcastically, sliding through the door like a shadow, "But how do you know I didn't just give you a warning that I was coming? I know where I'm headed after I die, and it doesn't sound too nice to me." Despite the heavy boots she wore, she made no noise. In fact, with her cloak on and the hood up, she looked a drifting shadow with the face of a corpse.

"So you're sticking around no matter what?" Mello asked. The girl nodded. "And you'll help us when we need you?" Another nod.

"I'll kill anyone you want so long as it isn't myself." She said, pulling the hood away from her face. "In fact, if you gave the order, I'd shoot you right now."

"That won't happen," Mello said.

"Well, I couldn't help but hope," Laura sighed. "Oh well. Anything for me to do now?" Mello's mind was already flying ahead to the next hideout, where he and the Death Note would probably be discovered.

"Yes," he said. "There is one thing… but you'll have to wait a few days."

"Sir?" She asked, glancing towards Ross.

"Follow Mello's orders," he said. "I trust him. In the years he's been here, he's never once been wrong." Laura nodded slightly.

…

"Marks," Mello snapped. Laura fell from the rafters as though they had dropped her, and landed on her toes.

"Yes Mels?" She asked; her head turned slightly to one side. "If you're wondering, it's finished, and there's only one safe spot." Laura had not changed a bit since Rod Ross had introduced her to Mello. Her eyes were still dead and sunken, her skin was still comparable to that of a corpse, and she hadn't grown an inch. But she'd been getting along quite well with Mello, and Mello had stopped shooting at her when she called him 'Mels'. She flatly refused to call him 'sir' like she did Ross, for the simple reason that Mello had not hired her.

"And you can guarantee this?"

"Not without setting them off, no, but I'm ninety-nine percent sure. Do you want me to show you?" Mello nodded, and Laura led him up a flight of stairs. He didn't let her see the bolt of pain that passed through him when she snapped out the percentage; he couldn't. She didn't know about Wammy's House, and she could never learn. He didn't fully trust her. He never would, nor she him. But they would come to develop a strange sort of partnership. Though Mello had a perfect aim (and he did not lie when he told others it was, quite literally, 'perfect'; he had never once missed a target) with just about any type of weapon you could give him, Laura was slightly more stealthy, just a bit smaller, and most certainly more calm.

She drifted up the stairs like a phantom, her infuriatingly calm aura punctuated with just a bit of pride of a job well done. "The surveillance room, just like you asked," she said as she walked. "Damn hard to rig around it, and you're going to want to have something on your face when it goes off. A helmet if you can get one, 'cause the roof is gonna come down." She spoke with a very orderly type of slang, occasionally flitting around as she spoke. Most people could only scamper, but Laura… this girl could literally 'flit'. It was annoying. "I've surrounded the entrance with small explosives, more like fireworks than bombs," she explained. "The other doors have higher powered explosives that won't be detonated by gunfire if all goes well."

That was the problem with Laura. She didn't plan everything to the end, and not everything she did was perfect. Oh, she would certainly finish whatever task was given to her, but she had many different ways of going about doing them. Once, when Mello had requested she get rid of several targets, she'd tracked them down in a day and a half and spent a week toying with their minds and pitting them against each other. In the end, they killed each other, which was quite convenient for Laura. She only killed more than one target for a job when it was personal or there was no other choice. And in that case, there had been a choice and a chance at a bit of fun. Laura loved playing with targets like a cat loves playing with a mouse. She'd chase them, stalk them, maim them, and then –just when they thought they'd get away –she'd pull the trigger one final time. She wasn't a professional assassin.

"If all goes well?" Mello asked. They were standing in the surveillance room, Laura sitting cross-legged on the table in front of the many screens.

"Well, I managed some bulletproof casing for the explosives on those two doors, and it should hold up. I can't picture anyone standing at point-blank range to shoot at a door, can you?"

"No. Good to see you're starting to think like me Marks," Mello said. He'd begun calling her Marks when they were talking on the phone, when she was sitting on a rooftop calmly twirling a knife between her fingers. He remembered that for some reason. She'd let him hear the metallic twirl of a knife over the phone before she'd put it into its sheath on her arm. He didn't really remember why he'd said it, but the words "Marks, you're going to kill yourself one day," had slipped out of his mouth.

Laura's answer had come after a long minute of silence. "You're probably right."

Now her voice rang out again. "You'll want to be standing at least in the center of the room. If you can, stay on the table here. The further from the door you are, the better." Mello nodded. If there was one thing Laura never used guesswork with, it was explosives. He trusted her as much as he could without completely trusting her. "Here's the switch," she said. "The first button is the warning; it'll seal off the entrances. The second one takes out the rest of the building and everyone in it. Needless to say, I'll be in here with you. I don't intend on dying."

"Right," Mello replied.

…

Two days later, Mello was sitting on the table in the surveillance room, the detonator (affectionately dubbed 'Switch' by Laura) held in one hand. He had just destroyed the only two entrances to the building. Laura was sitting in the rafters above his head. He was issuing orders to the police. She was double-checking her rifle's ammunition.

He was facing Deputy Director Yagami. She was taking aim at his neck. He was writing Mello's first name. Her index finger was tightening around the trigger. Jose miraculously was still alive. Two guns were aimed at the Deputy Director. One fired a continuous round, the other a single shot. Just one shot, which grazed the carotid artery on the man's neck. He wouldn't live to see the setting sun. She swore. He wasn't supposed to get out of the building alive.

And then the other policemen stormed into the room. Jose was killed.

Mello pressed the final button, and there was a rush of fire and then… nothing.

…

AN: Yes, this is the latest version of Marksmaid. I hope this one is better than its predecessor. Please leave a review!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note. Nah nah nah nah nah nah, you can't sue me!

…

The black cloaked figure ran through the rain, a tear sliding down her cheek. It was not every day you were asked to eliminate your first target; it was the worst day of your life. And that the boy had been the same age as her had made it even harder. Yet he was dead now, and she had to run. She could not be seen anywhere near the place of the target, and she would have to assume her new identity. She would finally take the fake ID cards and birth certificate from her teacher, and begin living as Laura Zetsumei, the Japanese-American girl born in England.

She never guessed she'd have to pry the pieces of paper from dead hands.

…

When Mello woke up, he was first aware of a pair of hands on his chest. This led him to the conclusion that his vest was gone. He couldn't open his eyes, and his lips felt like they had been bleeding. He'd been burned; obviously quite badly. "I think he's sorta coming around," someone whispered. "He's waking up Sasha." Sasha? Who was Sasha?

"Mail," she muttered, "I… I'm not in much of a position to do anything right now." Mello thought the voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite pinpoint whose it was.

"Right, that beam… And it's Matt now, you know that." Matt? Mello tried to open his eyes, but only one would comply. Still, it was enough to see the ginger gamer leaning over him, one hand on his chest, the other on his own leg, seemingly for balance. "Welcome back," he said.

"Hey," Mello replied, trying to sound offhand. In truth, he sounded like he'd inhaled gravel. His throat and lungs burned.

"Mels!" Somewhere nearby, Mello heard Laura call.

"Laura?" He asked.

"Who's Laura?" Matt asked.

"Me," Laura replied.

"Sasha?"

"Mail?" Laura asked sarcastically.

"Okay fine," Matt grumbled. "I should have expected this. And let me guess, Sasha's not your real name either?"

"Ri-" Laura gasped in pain. "Right." Her breath was shaky, but she was still out of Mello's line of sight, so he couldn't tell what was wrong with her. "So Mels, it looks like you're gonna have one hell of a scar on your face… It'll probably take a few months for your eyebrows to grow back too, if they ever do."

"T-the notebook," Mello rasped. "Do you have it?" Laura arched her eyebrows.

"What notebook?" She asked, puzzled. Mello didn't answer her. Instead, he slipped back into the relative peace of unconsciousness.

Laura looked at Matt. Matt looked at Laura. "So," Matt said, "Are you feeling any better?" Laura laughed.

"No more than I was the last time you asked about… three minutes ago," she said, indicating the raw, bloody flesh and her mutilated knee. "One of the rafters really clocked me on the head after Mello set that bomb off, and I'm not seeing straight. I keep thinking it'll pass, but right now you look like you've got an extra eye, and my back just _aches. _I don't remember feeling like this, ever." She winced again, trying to hide the pain from her former target. "Hey, Matt," she asked quietly, "Do you still have…?" Matt grinned at her and pulled a chain out from under his shirt. Strung on the chain were two things: a dented, crumpled piece of metal, and a bullet in almost the exact same condition. Laura grinned at him.

"An 'M' and a bullet," Matt said.

"Do you know why I gave that to you?" Laura asked, trying to keep her voice pleasant while fighting her weakening consciousness. "That 'M'… It was for 'Marksmaid'. It was, in a sense, my calling card."

"And the reason I survived," Matt said, lying on his back and staring lazily up at the sky. "So thanks for the gift Marksie." Laura growled at him. She didn't like being called Marks as it was. 'Marksie' was really pushing it.

"And when your prince charming wakes up we'll be right back on… Kira's… trail." Laura shivered again, her attempt to embarrass Matt gone because of her inability to say the name of the one person she feared. Her back was killing her, though her vision was already clearing.

"My prince charming?" Matt asked dryly.

Laura shrugged. "Just a guess," she muttered, even though it wasn't. "And besides, leather? And he doesn't complain waking up to your hand on his chest? He's gay even if you aren't." She tried to gently ease back onto her elbows, but gasped in pain with the attempt.

"Don't," Matt said. Laura glared at him. "Just don't." And Laura didn't. She sat up slowly, placing her back against a wall and trying to ignore the bolts of pain that went up and down her spine. It could have been worse, she rationalized. It could have been much worse. She could have been dead. Mello could have been dead, or Matt. Or all three of them. Mello was obviously the worst off, and Laura was beginning to think she'd slipped a disk, and Matt had second degree burns all over his back and chest (of course, he'd had extra clothes in his car). But it could have been worse.

"Everything's gone," she murmured. "I guess it's back to square one for me…" she sighed and there was a long silence. "You know I still have to kill you," she whispered. It wasn't a question, but a statement. Matt's eyebrows disappeared into his shaggy red hair.

"You can't be serious." Laura nodded dejectedly and shrugged, then leaned back against the wall with a small gasp of pain. Matt pulled a cigarette from nowhere in particular and lit up. About two seconds later, there was a small click and a loud 'bang', and Matt was holding the charred remains of the aforementioned cigarette between his fingers. Laura spun a tiny, single-shot pistol around her finger before blowing the smoke away from the barrel like a dueler from the Old West. She winked at him and proceeded to throw the gun about twenty feet away.

"I am," she said quietly. "Maybe not here, maybe not now… maybe never, but I took out a contract from someone who wanted you dead quite badly, and I took payment for the job when it wasn't complete."

"But you had the chance to kill me just a moment ago," Matt said. Laura shrugged.

"I'm like the Grim Reaper," she said with a wince, "I can decide whether or not I want to take a life at a particular moment. Right then, I just didn't want you smoking near me." There was a long pause, then Laura said: "I'm really…" she yawned. "Really tired. Wake me about in a few hours, okay?" Matt nodded and Laura let her eyes slip closed. He studied the dark purple lines that curled underneath her eyes, the twitch of her right hand, and her steady breathing. He remembered how he'd met her, before those lines under her eyes existed, when he was still Mail (sort of) and she was Sasha. What an odd week that had been.

Mello stirred and muttered something in his sleep, bringing Matt back to the present. He wondered briefly if Sasha –no, if _Laura _still played the piano or if she'd forgotten by now. She'd been playing a beautiful piece when he'd first seen her; though how that had happened was a bit fuzzy at the moment. "Mells?"

"Hey," he muttered weakly. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Matt replied. "I'm more worried about you." Mello tried to smile, though it looked more like he was grimacing.

"Don't worry about me…" he mumbled, and closed his eyes again. "A few more hours of sleep and I'll be good as new… We'll have that notebook yet…" His voice faded away and his breathing evened out. He was asleep again. Matt smiled at his still form, despite being puzzled about Mello's mutterings about this mysterious notebook, and examined his surroundings. He had heard Laura calling for help from within the burning warehouse, trying to drag Mello through the flames and failing miserably. She would have died if Matt hadn't been around. He had been searching for Mello ever since his friend had stormed out of Wammy's house all those years ago, and found him just in the nick of time.

Laura had given him a brief summary of what had happened. Mello had been thrown twenty feet against a wall, which had crumbled; weakened by the explosives. The roof had fallen in seconds after that, briefly pinning Laura beneath it. She had scrambled out, and heard her back snap as the fire spread. She had seen bodies, but hadn't bothered checking to see whether or not they were dead. She run, scrambled, and crawled over to Mello, and tried dragging him out of the worst of the flames. Half of his face was on fire, she had said, and all she could smell was burning flesh. That had been when Matt had seen the smoke and gone to investigate. He'd found Laura still trying to drag an unconscious Mello through the fire, her right leg burned and singed so badly he doubted she'd ever walk normally again.

He'd helped her get Mello as far away from the flames as he could before she simply collapsed. He had tried to wrap her leg in the remainder of her long mottled coat, but when she'd woken up the first thing she had done (aside from scream) was tear the fabric away from her skin. A rafter had pierced her knee, and she'd worked on removing it as best she could until, with tears of pain streaming down her soot-covered cheeks, she'd asked Matt to pull it out. He had done the best he could, but he knew they'd have to go to a hospital eventually. The only question was, where? You couldn't just walk in with two wanted criminals and ask for medical care. They'd be arrested.

Now they were in an alley; two of them unconscious and the third craving a cigarette. He walked over to the gun Laura had fired before she'd passed out, and picked it up. It was a plain thing, no engravings, no signs of even being used but the hundreds of thousands of scratches that covered every inch of the surface, insuring the metal could never reflect light. Matt smiled at the fact that the perfectionist hadn't allowed even a single scratch to touch another. He examined every inch of the gun over and over again, flicking the safety on and off and on again, until Laura eventually woke up.

"Dammit no!" She snarled. Then she blinked and seemed to calm down. Matt arched his eyebrows at her, and she narrowed her eyes and curled her upper lip into an almost inhuman snarl. "Those bastards," she growled. "The bastards that killed my parents. I keep having that dream." She shivered and grimaced. "We've got to get to a hospital."

"I was thinking the same thing," Matt said. "I just can't think of anywhere we can go." Laura sighed.

"Help me to your car," she said. "Then come back and get Mello. I'll give you directions." Matt was pretty sure she'd pass out just from the pain of being moved at that point, but there was something about the way Laura had 'I'll give you directions' that made him wonder where she intended to go. He was a curious person by nature; it was one of the many things that had led him to be such an accomplished and skilled hacker. He was also naturally withdrawn, which, according to Laura a few moments before she'd had to confess to having to kill him a first time, had made him 'quite an interesting first target'. He held out his hand to her, and she reached up to grasp it.

She was as cold as a corpse. "You're so cold," Matt gasped. Laura shrugged, grimacing and biting back a scream of pain as she pulled herself to her feet. She couldn't suppress a long, high whimper though, and the sound of it caused Matt to shiver. "Are you sure you should be walking?"

"I just asked myself the same question," Laura growled through gritted teeth, "And I have no idea." She was leaning heavily on him, and he almost buckled beneath her weight. Even though Laura couldn't weigh much over ninety pounds (though Matt wasn't particularly good at estimating weights), at the moment she was ninety pounds of deadweight, which wasn't easy for an out of shape gamer and hacker to drag, even if his car was only a hundred or so feet away. But, Matt did his best, and Laura tried to help him help her. He helped her into the car, and closed the door gently. Laura's eyes were glassy and she was blinking back tears as Matt returned to try and get Mello.

However, he wouldn't wake up. "Mello," Matt said gently, shaking him, "C'mon Mells, wake up…" Mello didn't stir. Only the rise and fall of his chest told Matt he was still alive. With a sigh, the redhead bent down and scooped up the blonde in his arms and carried him (quite ungracefully) to the car. When he got there, Laura was shivering and her teeth were clenched. But when she saw Matt, her milk white face broke into a grin and her lips cracked. She licked the blood away from her mouth as Matt pulled open the car door and stretched Mello across the back seat.

"I'd say something sarcastic," she said, "but my back is killing me. Get in and drive."

"Ever heard of chapstick?" Matt countered as he slid the keys into the ignition and started the car. "You look like a vampire."

Laura didn't respond. "Go down two streets and take a left."

**...**

AN: And so Marksmaid finally progresses! To anyone reading this, I'd like to say thank you, and please tell me what you think!


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note. There are many other things I do not own as well. Maybe I'll make a list someday.

**...**

The girl quietly slipped into the house she had called home for four years now, slipping off her shoes and disarming the alarm in two fluid motions. She did not call out any greetings or other indications to the other person in the house; it was against her training. She slipped into the parlor, where a cold cup of tea greeted her. This struck her as odd; her teacher never left tea to go cold. Her eyes darted into every corner of the room, searching for any sign of life. Fear clenched at her stomach, but still, she did not speak. This could be a test, and she was determined not to fail.

The tea was untouched. There were no marks on its rim to indicate anyone had drunk from it. That ruled out poison; besides: her teacher wasn't stupid enough to fall for something so simple. There were no footprints but for her own. The girl walked out of the parlor and into the dining room. The table was set for two, but all of the glasses were empty; the knives undisturbed. Everything was perfectly in place. She glanced underneath the tablecloth; looking at the bottom of the table for cameras or bombs. But still, there was nothing.

Next, she checked the kitchens. The room was large, but mostly empty. Still, the whole of it was scoured as the girl looked for anything out of place. Nothing was. Then she checked behind a large mural and found her first clue. Scrawled across the wall in what appeared to be some sort of jam were three numbers. _26-25-48. _She stared at them with interest for a moment, memorizing them. Then she moved on. She decided her room would be the next place to check.

The very first thing she did when she got to her room was close the door and lock it. It was an old habit of hers, and one she didn't intend to break. She then checked her wardrobe, the space beneath her bed, and the inside of the piano that rested in the corner. No one was there and there were no clues. She checked the drawers on her dresser. Her normal gadgets were there; poison and guns, a flamethrower disguised as a hairdryer, gasoline in a tube of lip gloss, some acid in a nail polish jar. All of her ammunition was there. Her favorite pistol, a Walther P-99, still sat in its hidden book, and she switched it with the one she had fired earlier. She snatched up a box of bullets and loaded her gun as she scoured the rest of the room. Then, with a twist of the lock, she slipped back out.

Down the hallway she went, checking every room she came to. She scoured, from top to bottom, the bathroom, the closet-like room where the washer and dryer sat, the linen closet (though she doubted she'd find anything there), and the den. She found nothing. No signs of her teacher, no clues to where he was. She kept walking, down to the room she had been forbidden to enter. There was a keypad next to the door, and she did not pause before entering the code she had found about half an hour earlier into it. _26-25-48. _The door unlocked audibly. She entered, her gun hand raised just above her hip. She blinked, trying to get her eyes to adjust to the darkness while she searched for a light switch. Upon finding one, she ran over it with her hands several times, checking for wires and other traps.

She flicked it on. "Oh." The word was involuntary, almost despairing, as her eyes fell on the most horrible sight she had ever seen. Her teacher lay there, sprawled on his desk. He was, without a doubt, dead. There was no blood, and she suspected he had used poison. There were no marks on his neck. She walked up to him quietly, reverently, and moved his hands. She did not shy away from his corpse, but she did cry. She still had some vague sense of humanity left in her. She pulled his head away from the desk, and examined the papers that were laying there through her tears. She saw her fake papers; her birth certificate (she noticed her birthday had been changed) her legalization papers, her U.S. passport. She saw a clutter of bills and pens, and a black notebook. She also found a note, in her teacher's scratchy handwriting.

_Laura-_

_ If you are reading this, I am dead. Leave me to be found by others, and lock the door behind you when you leave. I don't want you to look suspicious. I hope you went through the house, and remembered your training. If your target is dead, your training is finished. I have taught you everything I know, and now, I will give you the one thing that means the most to me. My title; though changed a bit to suit your tastes. _

_Laura, I am proud to now call you Marksmaid. _

_Take your papers, and go to the U.S. I think you will find better work there; but be careful. The police and FBI are very, very good at catching criminals. Don't get caught. I might look into the Mafia, though I am not you. Sell the house; my bank account is now yours. DO NOT STAY IN JAPAN. I am sure you will be comfortable in America; they do have a concealed carry permit in most states, if not all. Be sure to get those licenses, so you can at least keep a pistol with you legally. I am also sorry to inform you you'll have to leave the Walther and the Nambu here. Everything else should be able to slip past security, just empty out the gasoline before you pack it. _

_If you ever find someone who you could pass your title on to one day, don't hesitate to begin training them. But be ready for when the training ends. My first target was my own teacher, and I knew it was a sort of finalization. There is no going back now Laura. You've chosen your life. _

_Marksmaid, I feel as though you will do great things. You will be more than just an assassin. Though my time has come, yours is far away._

_Goodbye Marksmaid. I wish you luck in life, and death. _

_Tesla._

Laura looked at the letter for a long time. She was disappointed that she would have to leave her two beloved pistols here, but at the same time, she thought it was probably for the best. They were illegal anyway, and that would make them even harder to get through security with. She looked at her teacher. He had never given her his name. In fact, she figured that even this was an alias. Still, she folded up the bit of paper and brushed the hair from his eyes. He was about forty, with black hair streaked with gray. His skin was light, but not as pale as hers. He was tall for someone of Asian descent; over five and a half feet, and his eyes; now closed, were dark brown. He hid in the shadows perfectly when he was alive.

Laura took his long, mottled black coat from the closet, and, wrapped in grief, went to go pack.

**…**

Laura fought to stay conscious as she directed Matt to a doctor who, though uncertified, wouldn't ask any questions. She hadn't lost a great amount of blood from her knee, but the pain in her back was awful. She also, though she hadn't told Matt about it, had a large chunk of metal burned into the center of her chest. A locket she had worn since the day her teacher, Tesla, had killed himself. She had found it around his neck; empty, and she had taken it and pulled it over her head, just to have a small bit of him to keep with her in the unfamiliar America. She'd tucked his note into it, though she was sure it was now nothing but ash. "Turn here and stop," she said. Matt did what she said without question. "Now help me out of the car."

"Laura, you really shouldn't be walking," Matt said. Laura shrugged. "We're in the middle of nowhere!" This was true. Ahead of them lay a large warehouse that had obviously seen better days, and beyond that, a short expanse of asphalt and the ocean.

"I have some friends," Laura said calmly. "They live here. Now help me…" she paused, gasping as a bolt of pain ran from the top of her skull down to her tailbone. "Dammit… help me out now." Matt had seen the tremor go down her spine, and decided it might be a good idea to do as she said. She knew these streets better than he did, and she and Mello both needed help. He opened his door and went to the passenger's side, where he opened the door and offered his hand to Laura. She took it in a death grip and pulled herself out of the car, barely stifling a scream of pain. "Now help me up to the door," she hissed in pain. Tear tracks were evident against her soot-covered face, but she was forcing herself to move as normally as possible. It took them almost three minutes to walk the fifteen yards between the car and the door to the warehouse. Matt knocked.

The door swung open almost instantly, and a boy who appeared to be younger than Matt and Laura looked at them. He had brown hair that hung around his pale face, and hazel eyes that had obviously seen more than they had wanted to but glittered all the same. "Well, if it isn't the rubber girl, broke her back at long last," he sighed. "Come in, bring the car." He didn't even seem fazed by their arrival. Laura put her arm around his shoulder and limped in, glancing back at Matt. He took that as a signal to go get the car and bring it in. In only a minute, he was inside the dim warehouse, and someone had pulled the door shut behind him. He got out of the car, pulled his goggles away from his eyes, and pulled a cigarette from his pocket.

"Don't give me an excuse to shoot you," Laura snapped. "Get Mello out of the back while I tell Leo what I can." She then grimaced as the young boy, apparently named Leo, traced a finger down her spine. "Damn you, can't you see that fucking hurts!" She hissed in pain.

"Language now Laura," he said calmly, completely unperturbed by her pain, "I have to try and figure out where you're hurt, ya know." He obviously had known her for some time. Laura sighed and muttered something Matt couldn't hear as he carried Mello out of the car, then yelped again a few moments later. "Yup, that's a fifth vertebra. You know those fluid sacks between them? This one burst. You won't need surgery, but you'll be here a while." Laura growled. "Oh, and Mary'll see to those two now." Matt looked in front of him, but no one was there.

"Behind you," someone snapped playfully. "Don't worry, I don't bite." Matt almost didn't turn around. "C'mon, you and your girlfriend are safe here."

"He's not my girlfriend!" Matt snapped. "_He _being the keyword there…" He trailed off. Standing in front of him was a bone thin girl with big brown eyes and ratty black hair. She appeared to be of Mexican descent, and had to be at least twenty. A small grin was apparent on her face, and Matt could hear her next words before she even opened her mouth. "He's not my boyfriend either."

"I'm Mary," she said. "And that's a shame; you two would make a cute couple." She turned and waved for Matt to follow her further away from his car, to a spot where there were several lights on a small bench. "I'm not too sure what I can do for his face, but I'm good with burn treatments…" She stretched her right arm out behind her, and Matt saw that her skin was horribly scarred and puckered, and several shades darker than her already deep tan complexion. "Was there any bleeding?"

"Minor," Matt said, "and it could have just been because of Laura's leg." He laid Mello out on the bench and Mary produced a roll of white gauze from nowhere apparent.

"Did he ever wake up?" She asked, "And could he open both of his eyes?" She pulled what looked like a steak knife out of her pocket.

"Yes," Matt replied instantly. "And he could talk too." Mary sighed and put the knife down. "Um… not to appear rude, but are you…?"

"A doctor?" Mary asked. "No. I just learn on the job, and from the ton of illegal and free wifi Leo over there gets us whenever." The boy, who was now examining Laura's leg, waved in their direction when he heard his name. Matt blinked, impressed. "So… it looks like major third degree burns… what did he do, stand in front of a bomb?"

"Mary!" Laura snapped, "Don't ask questions." Her voice had suddenly gone very cold, and Matt wanted to take a step further away from her. The girl flinched, as though she expected Laura to turn a gun on her and shoot.

"I just had to say it," she said a moment later, her voice taking on a sarcastic tone. "I mean, look at him! Still though…" Laura snarled and Mary instantly went silent. "Sorry." She picked up Mello's head and a wet rag, and carefully cleaned the soot and ash out of the burns, leaving the raw, glistening skin evident. Mello twitched and tried to pull away several times, but she kept him still. She then proceeded to wrap the gauze around his face, leaving only one eye uncovered. "So…" she paused and glanced at Matt.

"Hm? Oh, I'm Matt," he said after a moment.

"Matt, then," Mary continued, "What happened to you?"

"Nothing much," Matt said, "A couple of burns, nothing really big." Marry nodded distractedly as Mello continued to stir. "Hey Mells, wake up," he said quietly. Mello didn't open his eye.

"He probably won't wake up for another day or so," Mary explained, "He probably experienced some form of head trauma; he's lucky he didn't slip into a coma." She glanced up at him through her rat's nest of hair and smiled softly at him. Her eyes sparkled in the dim lighting, and Matt grinned back.

"Yeah," he said, "Mello's a pretty lucky guy."

"So he'll… be okay?" Laura asked, gasping as Leo continued to examine her leg.

"He'll be scarred," Mary said, "But it looks like he should be fine." Laura nodded and turned her head back to look at Leo.

"How about me?" She asked gently. "Will I walk?" Leo didn't look up at her. "Leo."

"You'll walk," Leo said, "And I know you enough to say you'll be running in due time. But you'll limp for the rest of your life." Laura sighed and leaned back.

"At least I won't have to stop doing what I'm good at," she whispered, staring up towards the ceiling. "You can still be proud of me Tesla."

**…**

Well, what did you think? Please leave a review, they're always welcome!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.

**…**

Weeks passed. Laura began to walk again, Mello finally regained consciousness. Matt got to know Mary and Leo better, and found that he was fond of both of them. Laura had had him drive out to the alley they had been at when Mello had first slipped back into consciousness, and retrieve her pistol. When he had returned it to her, he had commented about the scratches.

"What, these?" Laura said, indicating the marks. Matt had nodded. "This is Tesla's. He said that he had made three marks for every target he eliminated with this thing." She had smiled at him and indicated a small blank space. "I've already got your spot reserved." Matt hadn't gone within twenty feet of her for the rest of the week, even though he knew she didn't have any bullets, and that he wouldn't have been safe anyway if she had.

Now, Matt and Mary were talking as Laura paced the floor, limping heavily and agitated about something or other. Mello was sitting up, wincing as Leo changed the bandages on his face. The wounds were healing nicely, and he had shown no signs of brain damage, though he was still pretty scratched up. They all were. "So… you're an orphan too?" Mary inquired.

"Yeah," Matt replied, "I never really knew my parents. I have a sort of fuzzy memory, but that's all, really." Mary's bright white smile was sad and understanding.

"I understand that," she said. "I remember exactly that. Just a fuzzy memory… I wish I knew where they were." Laura continued to limp across the warehouse floor. Mello joined her, with fresh gauze covering his scar, and Leo walked over to Matt and Mary.

"Hey," he said, and was absorbed into the conversation without further introduction.

**…**

"We'll be leaving soon," Laura said quietly to Mello. Her hair was beginning to grow out, displaying mousy brown roots that didn't seem to suit her. Her clothing was still tattered in places from the explosion, and she had mourned the loss of her heavy mottled coat. Mello's vest was gone completely, so Leo had lent him one of his shirts (it was black, so Mello didn't complain terribly). Despite the fact that the boy was two heads shorter than Mello, it fit the Mafia boss fine. His leather pants had remained mostly intact, and his shoes were fine; thus putting him in slightly better shape than Laura.

"What are you thinking about?" Mello asked, not bothering to ask why Laura wanted to leave.

"How much you owe me," Laura replied, "Since Ross died, you're technically my employer, and you owe me for rigging that building." She said it with a straight face, but Mello couldn't believe his ears.

"So I have to pay you for nearly killing me?" Laura laughed.

"Well… when you put it that way… yes. But let's not worry about that until we're out of here." Mello sighed. Laura was acting somewhat like a human. That was always a relief. They continued walking.

"And just so we've got this straight," Mello said after a minute, "you cannot shoot Matt. Or even _at _him. Understood?" Laura nodded.

"I'll stay away from him," Laura said, "As long as you are my employer." She shrugged. "So I suppose you're stuck with me." Mello sighed, but he realized it wasn't a half bad deal.

"So what's the price?" Laura gave him a quick smile.

"The building's going to be two thousand, seeing as how I almost died. I only charge about two hundred for easy targets, which are all I've been given until this point, and since I don't hate you, I'll cut the monthly fees of keeping me around off the bill until this point. That's about four thousand, by the way." Her smile had been replaced by a devious smirk. Mello's vision was swimming in dollar signs.

"You cost a pretty penny," he said at last.

"I haven't heard that phrase," Laura smile became real again, and they continued pacing for another few minutes. "Oh," she said suddenly, "I'll need money for hair dye too."

"You can't pay for that out of what you're already being given?" Mello felt faint. Laura laughed.

"Yeah. Just playing with ya Mells," she said, "I'm… I think I'm going to go sit down… maybe close my eyes. I never get a chance to actually sleep, you know?" Mello nodded. He didn't know, but he could understand. He'd lost sleep recently too. At times, the only things that kept him awake were outrageous amounts of chocolate and coffee, and as far as he knew, neither had ever so much as touched Laura's lips. She must be in a semi-conscious daze all the time, and yet she was always so on top of everything.

He walked over to where Matt, Mary, and Leo were talking. Leo glanced up and made room for him, and Mello flopped down on an empty plastic crate. Matt glanced up at him and grinned lazily. "Is Laura asleep?" Mello nodded. Matt dug around in his pockets for a cigarette and his lighter, lit up, and inhaled deeply. "Hope none of you mind," he said, blowing grayish-white smoke from his mouth. No one, apparently, did.

Their conversation rattled on, but Mello simply leaned back and listened. He was thinking more about Laura; her white grin and dark eyes and annoying way of calling him Mells, something no one had ever done, even Matt.

At the thought of Matt, Mello's train of thought experienced a fork in the rails. The train went left; after all, Mattie was left-handed. They had been friends since they had met (after, of course, some not-so-good natured fighting) and as Mello's feelings for the redhead had gone past those of friendship, he had become more and more withdrawn. He had been afraid to tell his 'friend' his true feelings, for fear of being rejected, and still was. Matt and those crazy orange goggles he wore. Mello hated them; they hid his beautiful eyes, but he couldn't very well say _that_, could he? He sighed–

–And choked on the smoke that Matt blew into his face. "Earth to Mello," Matt said sarcastically. "Earth to Mells, are you there?" Mello jumped. "What were you thinking about?"

"Nothing," Mello said. "Just… what we're going to be doing after we leave here… and when we'll be leaving." Mary's eyes brightened.

"Another two weeks till you leave," she said. "That's the absolute shortest time I can say. Mello, you might have to stay longer." Mello doubted that, but said nothing. He expected Laura to wake up and say something contrary in her deadly quiet voice, but the girl (for that was really all she was) slumbered on. "And as for Laura… I really thought she was done for there for a while."

"I've never seen so much blood in my life," Leo agreed, but Mary shook her head.

"I meant…" she paused, trying to come up with the words. "I meant… she didn't seem like she _wanted _to pull through. A lot of the times, things like that can make a big difference."

"I know what you mean," Mello said. "Have you seen her arms?" Leo nodded, but Mary looked mystified. Matt was listening to the conversation, watching Mello's lips move, but not really listening to the words.

"They're all old scars," the young boy said, "but yeah, I've seen. No wonder she kept asking for her coat. How did you…?" His inquiring glance at Mello held a sort of curiosity that made Mello want to answer.

"I… When I first met her, after she fell from our ceiling –don't ask– she took that coat off. Her arms were bare to the shoulder, and the scars were practically glowing in the light." Finally, Matt felt like he needed to cut in. Mary's confusion was showing purely on her face, and he felt the same puzzlement she did.

"Alright," he said, "what are we talking about?"

"Me, apparently…" Laura had woken up and walked over to them without anyone noticing. Her voice was quiet. Matt instantly crushed out his cigarette. "And yes Mello, Leo, Mary… Yes Matt, I did attempt suicide. Twice. I think I would have succeeded if I'd bothered with pills, but I have always been drawn to blades. Both times I was found in a pool of blood, and both times I woke up with the knowledge it hadn't succeeded." She shrugged, then traced one long scar up her right arm. "This is the last one. It was shallow, but…" She trailed off and smiled in a way that made her look as though she had a secret to keep.

For a long time after that, no one had anything to say. Finally, struggling to find any sort of topic of conversation, Mary said: "You don't sleep much, do you?"

"Not for longer than an hour since you last saw me," Laura replied with a laugh.

"That's over two years!" Leo said. "Are you two thirds caffeine or something?"

"Adrenaline," Laura said. "Raw fear, and… well, yeah, a lot of coffee." She laughed again.

"You sound like Mello," Matt joked. Said blonde flicked a square of chocolate at his head. No one asked where he'd gotten it. Mello had ways of finding chocolate that rivaled a bloodhound's sense of tracking. "I mean… never mind." Laura sighed, and silence lapsed over them again.

_We'll leave tonight, _Laura thought. _At any cost. I can't take any more locked doors. _She remembered with a shudder the night, only a few years ago, when she'd almost been caught by the police.

_She had left her small apartment without any weapons, feeling safe for the first time in her life. Her mottled black coat was warm, and she tucked her hands into her pockets. She had nothing to do that night, and had decided to take a walk and enjoy the stars. The sky was clear and black, and the moon was a thin sliver in the east. Laura sighed and walked peacefully on. Tesla's locket bounced gently against her flat chest, but it was inside of her coat and she paid it no mind. Her feet made no noise against the pavement. She still didn't feel at home in America, even though it was listed as her country of birth of the fake birth certificate Tesla had made for her. She had no past in Japan, none worth mentioning at any rate, but that was her home. She belonged there, the way a puzzle piece only belongs in one place. _

_But she shook the thoughts from her head and continued walking, a tall, thin young woman whom no one would bother looking at twice. Tesla had told her once she had a dead face; a face that could be that of a corpse. Laura had hated that at first, but quickly came to realize that it was a good thing for the career she had chosen. She did not pay attention to the traffic that flowed around her; did not see the brown car that followed her. She ducked through an alley as means of a shortcut, and that was when she heard a car door slam. She tensed, but didn't dare stop moving. That would give her away for certain if she was being followed. Oh, Tesla would be rolling over in his grave for her stupidity! She had always been taught to check, inconspicuously, of course, to make sure she wasn't followed, and she hadn't thought of it once! Still though, maybe it wasn't her they were after. Car doors slammed all the time._

"_Ma'am!" A voice yelled, "Excuse me, ma'am!" She heard footsteps jogging toward her, and she finally stopped. It wouldn't look suspicious if she glanced back now. Her heart almost stopped beating. She knew what undercover cops looked like. She recognized this man as one. He had dark brown hair and pale skin, and hazel eyes. The hair was dyed, obviously. Laura decided it must have been a lighter brown earlier. _

"_Sir?" She asked, inviting him to continue walking. She would find a bit of broken glass and slit his throat, she decided. The man did a double take when he saw her face; her sunken dark eyes, her pale skin, her mouth like a small slit in her face; her high cheekbones._

"_Please stop walking," he said, "I'd like to ask you some questions."_

"_I think better when I'm moving," Laura replied. "Feel free to walk with me." The man did not move._

"_Ma'am, I'm with the police. I could arrest you for resisting questioning." Laura laughed._

"_Alright, fine," she said. Her heart was pounding and her hands, still safely in her pockets, were shaking, but she played the part of a pleasant, if not intimidating, young woman. "Ask away."_

"_First of all," the man said, "I need to know your name." Tesla had given Laura two fake identities. She decided on her first one._

"_Of course," she said, "how rude of me. I'm Lauren Quail."_

"_Have you heard about the murders occurring here, Miss Quail?" Laura gave a theatric shudder. _

"_Yes," she said, "I have…" she trailed off, hoping that the man would hurry up and get to the point –whatever his point was._

"_We have reason to suspect the killer owns a coat like yours, Miss Quail." Laura laughed softly._

"_Sir, I bought this coat off of a department store rack," she said. "I can show you a receipt, if you want."_

"_We're looking for this killer, Lauren," the man dropped the 'Miss Quail' now. "And right now, you are our number one suspect." Laura took a deep breath. Did she dare leave this man alive? "I'm going to take you in for questioning," he said. And that was when Laura had decided. He was alone, and therefore he would die. _

_She docilely put her hands out as the man plucked a pair of handcuffs from an inner pocket of his coat. They were a bit shorter than she would have liked, but they would have to do. With a quick movement Tesla had taught her, she grabbed the man's right wrist and twisted it. She heard a satisfying crunching, snapping noise. The loop of the handcuff fell from his now limp fingers, and Laura snatched it away from him. Then she ducked behind him and slipped the handcuffs around the man's throat. _

_She didn't like to remember the next few minutes. But that night, she had fled New York, and had left the police with a crime that would not be credited to a gang. She had left a note._ I am the Marksmaid, _she had written after putting on a pair of gloves. Then she took a small, scripted 'M' pendant from her pocket (she always carried one or two, because they were easy to explain) and tucked it into the pocket of the man's shirt. It was her personal mark, so that everyone would know that this was her kill. She would have to buy a newspaper tomorrow; see how the public had reacted. She took the handcuffs with her –she wanted the police to know who she was, but didn't feel like leaving fingerprints behind._

Suddenly, she snapped out of her reverie. She blinked, letting her eyelids shutter and take in the whole of the warehouse. No one else was paying her any attention. They had moved, and were talking about something. Laura noticed Matt was smoking again. Oh well. She wasn't surprised. She pulled out her gun and loaded it.

_Bang._

"Laura, what the hell?" Mello was missing a few strands of hair. Matt was holding the charred remains of the cigarette. He was also bleeding slightly. Laura frowned –she hadn't anticipated that.

_Damn, _she thought. _Well, maybe he'll still pay me. _Mello looked murderous. Laura shoved herself off of the crate and walked calmly over to Matt, paying the blonde no attention. She grabbed his hand and examined where the bullet had scraped it. "This will hurt," she warned. The bullet had been hot; of course it had been, and had melted some of the skin together. Luckily, the wound itself wasn't deep. Only a bit of blood. "Mary, do you have a knife?" The girl slid one out of her sleeve.

"It's just a lock-blade," she said, "nothing fancy." She tossed it to Laura, who flicked out the blade, which was shiny and sharp. With two quick movements, she cut the skin that was binding his fingers together. Matt hissed in pain. Laura sighed.

"Good… dammit, you shouldn't have moved though. You shouldn't have been smoking either."

"What's your problem with smoking?" Leo asked curiously. "I mean, I know it's not that great for your lungs, but you're… sort of obsessing over it."

Laura paused. She didn't know what to say. "I'm… I know that's a part of it," she said. "It just… I've never liked it. I've never liked smoke, or fire… or that smell." She wrinkled her nose. Mello almost laughed. It was strange seeing Laura –the great and mysterious Marksmaid– complaining about something. He decided he'd forgive her for Matt.

But only because she'd been smart enough to make sure he was alright.

"Um… I should probably wrap your hand in something," Mary said. "It could get infected." Matt looked down at his hand, which was steadily oozing blood. He held it out to her, cautiously.

"Here," Laura said. She threw something to Mary. It was a ragged piece of black fabric that shone weakly. "An old scarf. Used to belong to…" she paused. "Well, that hardly matters anyway." She shook her head. "It's clean." Mary looked it over quizzically, and began wrapping it around Matt's hand.

Mello watched Mary in jealous silence.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Disclaimer: I hold no claims to Death Note or any of its characters. *Wishes she had the money to buy ownership rights*

**...**

Laura glanced at a newspaper stand as she walked through the streets of Philadelphia, wandering from place to place and mingling with tourists and commuters alike. None of them knew that a killer was passing them by, occasionally bumping into them and apologizing hurriedly.

Laura had dyed her hair. It was now a completely unnatural shade of blonde, with a thick, bubblegum streak of pink through her bangs. Her nails were painted hot pink, and she'd 'miraculously' gotten a tan overnight. She'd even put on makeup, to make her face seem less skull-like. A stylish black purse was slung over her shoulder –Laura never went anywhere without her signature color. She was wearing a white tank-top that read: 'I'm in love with NYC' and blue jeans, and a pair of very impractical three inch heels. She dragged an electric blue suitcase behind her; its wheels rumbling against the concrete.

Needless to say, she felt miserable. She couldn't wait to get to a city where she could wear something more comfortable. Maybe somewhere in the Great Plains. She'd lay low for a while, and then resurface. Suddenly, like a ghost.

She wanted desperately to buy a newspaper, but knew that she would blow her cover instantly. She'd have to take advantage of free Wi-Fi in whatever hotel she picked to stay the night at. Most hotels these days had that, didn't they? She shrugged; she'd find out what had happened with that murder no matter what, because for the first time in her life, she felt slightly guilty. Before, they had just been targets. This man hadn't been like that. She'd never been ordered to kill him. What if he'd had a family? She shuddered at the thought of a weeping wife and children, who might not even understand why their father would never come home. She hadn't seen the man wearing a ring, but she hadn't been paying attention either.

"I suppose this will do…" she murmured to herself. She was staring at a large, most probably four and a half star hotel situated on a street corner. "I do hope I have the money." With that, she straightened her back, set her shoulders, and walked in.

Her heeled feet fell silent on plush red carpet, and the warm atmosphere of the hotel enveloped her. She breathed in deeply, forgetting herself for a moment. Then she brought herself back to reality, and walked forward to the receptionist's desk. 'Damn,' she thought, seeing the person at the desk was a man. She had traveled before; at Tesla's request, and knew from experience male receptionists tended to flirt. Half of them weren't even aware of it, but it irked Laura all the same. He was maybe thirty, handsome, would probably become a movie star in another few years –if he lived that long. Laura could smell cigarette smoke on him as she drew closer to the desk.

"Hello," she said, "I'd like a room for the night." The man looked up. He had eyes the color of chocolate.

"Of course," he said, "just a moment please." He scanned a computer monitor that sat in front of him, and Laura heard him tapping keys. "Did you have a reservation?"

"No," she replied easily. This man was quite the opposite of what she'd expected him to be. If he wasn't a smoker, she might have grown to like him.

"The only two rooms we have open are both suites," he said apologetically.

"I'll take the least expensive," Laura replied. It was certainly dangerous; would instantly blow her cover if she was being followed, but what choice did she have? She didn't want to walk back out of the hotel. Not now, at any rate.

The man stared at her for a moment, then said, "Of course. How long did you say you'll be staying?"

"Just the night." There was one more clatter of keys, then the man reached under the desk and pulled out a key card. "Will I have to pay in the morning, or now?"

"If I could see your card," the man said, "We'll charge it on your departure." Laura dug around in her purse for a moment, before extracted a card that looked near its expiration, if not already crossed over.

"Do you accept Visa?" She asked innocently. "I promise it's not expired, I've just put it through a lot." She smiled.

"Of course Miss…" he paused for a moment and looked for her name. "Miss Quail." Only a few more minutes of standing, and Laura was on her way to her room. She took an elevator up to the top floor, and dragged her suitcase behind her along another long, plush carpet. She felt horribly out of place, but walked along just the same. Confidence made up a large part of this look.

**…**

"I'm going up onto the roof," Laura said. She had been pacing for the past half hour as the others spoke. Matt's hand had stopped bleeding, but he kept the scarf tied around his fingers. Laura was already feeling bad about losing her temper, and wanted to be alone anyway. There was a ladder to the roof; she was sure she could climb it. It would be good for her to try, at any rate. Besides, her muscles ached, and seeing as how only Leo was aware of how much of a contortionist she was (another reason Tesla had begun training her) she figured it would take less explaining to just stretch out somewhere where she could be alone.

As she neared the ladder, she picked up a slow jog, feeling her feet scuff the floor. She'd have to work on that –it was essential that she stayed silent at all times. Maybe she'd just camp out on the roof for a week, and then leave. Mello and Matt would be fine without her…

But no! As she put her foot on the first rung and began climbing, she remembered that damn contract. She hadn't signed anything –Laura hadn't signed anything for so long she'd forgotten if she was right- or left-handed, but she was a woman of her word. So she banished her thoughts of deserting the two and continued climbing. She was thirty rungs up when she began to tire. It had been far too long since she'd tried something like this. She hung for a few moments, then continued upwards.

By the time she reached the trapdoor that led to the tin roof, she was breathing hard. She'd have to do this two or three times a day, the more she thought about it. Maybe she wasn't ready to leave just yet. _No, I have to get out of here. _Her thoughts were absolute; she couldn't take staying here another night, much less another week. Another month would leave her sitting in a corner twitching, humming tuneless melodies to the air.

Sliding through the trapdoor, she kicked it closed behind her, listening to the satisfying 'bang' that echoed through the otherwise still air. A crow cawed in the distance. She wondered if it had been her that had startled it out of silence. She sighed, then sat down, cross-legged, on the rooftop. Maybe she wouldn't try to stretch out just yet… and she was so tired… Maybe she could relax for once.

The trapdoor banged shut behind her. Laura jumped, then sighed, realizing who it must be. "Leo, I thought you would have realized I want to be –" Mello sat down beside her. "Mello?"

"Laura," he replied, not looking at her. "Look, I want to talk to you." The girl in black laughed.

"Well I figured you weren't here for my warm presence," she said. "What do you want to talk about?" Neither of them looked at each other; Laura gazed towards the horizon, while Mello glared at the rooftop he was sitting on.

What did he want to talk about? Suddenly he realized he didn't dare tell her about Matt, at least not now. "I don't know." Laura made some sort of understanding noise, but didn't move.

"Then just sit here," Laura said after a few minutes. Then she stood and bent completely backwards, allowing her palms to brush the rooftop. There was a loud snap as her spine settled, and she gasped sharply and fell onto her back. Breathing shakily, she remarked, "I should have started with something easier…"

"So that's how you manage to hide in all of those strange places," Mello said. He had barely turned his head to look at her. "You're a contortionist."

"Yep," Laura replied. "It's helpful. Y'know, sometimes it's why people have chosen me over better snipers."

"Better snipers?" Mello asked doubtfully. There was a long pause.

"I'm merciful," Laura said at long last. "I'm still human. I still… I still see them as humans. I'm a murderer Mello. And I can't kill sometimes." Mello shook his head, though Laura didn't see it.

"Give me an example," he said.

"I was told to kill a boy named Nate Rivers," she said. "I spent weeks following him, tracking his movements, but when it was finally time to pull the trigger, I –Mello, are you okay?"

"S-someone asked you to kill Near?" He choked on the words, almost unable to say them. Laura stared at him.

"No," she said. "Someone _told _me to kill him, and paid me to do so. That is much different than asking." Suddenly her face was a mask again and she turned her back on Mello, though he was still staring at the rooftop and didn't see her.

The trapdoor squeaked, and Laura watched Matt pull himself onto the roof. "Well," she said sarcastically, "We should've brought food. It's like a picnic now."

"What?" Matt obviously had missed Laura's sarcasm.

"A picnic," Mello said tiredly, "with a sniper, a hacker, and a Mafia boss. Oh yes, we should've brought food." He laughed bitterly.

"Mello?" Matt went to go sit by him. "What's wrong?" Laura, suddenly hit with a wave of sympathy, walked over and sat on Mello's other side.

Mello looked up, staring out at the horizon. His hair, much longer than it had been before, fluttered weakly in the breeze as his eyes wandered across the scenery before them. "I've been thinking," he finally said. He paused, but didn't give Matt or Laura time to ask him just _what _he had been thinking about before he spoke again. "I've been thinking about what we're going to do once we get out of this."

"After we get out of what?" Matt asked. Laura gazed out at the horizon; leaning back on the heels of her hands.

"Out of this," Mello said again. "Out of the Mafia, out of this life of crime. Where are we going to go?"

"The country," Matt said. "Some out of the way place where the government can't find us. Someplace like Scotland."

"By the bonny banks of Loch Lomond," Laura said dreamily. Mello and Matt stared at her. "You've never heard that song? 'You'll take the high road and I'll take the low road…'" She trailed off, as though she were suddenly unsure of herself. They sat in awkward silence for a long while, until finally, Laura stood up.

"Where are you going?" Matt asked.

"Back down," she said, indicating the trapdoor with her foot. "I imagine I'll see you in a while. We'll be leaving soon." She slipped off without another word.

Mello and Matt sat, still caught in the awkward net of silence, said nothing for another few minutes. Finally, Matt spoke. "Do you think we should go back down too?"

"No," Mello replied, "not yet. Let's sit here a while longer." Matt didn't complain. It was nice, sitting here with Mello, watching the sun set. It was almost like it was a – "Matt, what did you mean, by 'us'?"

Matt froze. He didn't know what to say. "I-I meant that we'd stick together," he said lamely. He couldn't tell Mello. He'd never be able to take it back. "Isn't that what friends do?" Mello shrugged.

"Yeah," he said. He could hardly hide the bitterness in his voice. "Of course." They sat together in silence for another few minutes, and then Matt stood up.

"I'm going to head back down," he said.

"Plan on talking to Mary some more?" Mello snapped. He didn't know what had done it, but the bitterness and disappointment he felt had suddenly flooded over. Matt stared at him for a moment, hurt crossing his face.

"No," he said. "It's just getting dark." Mello blinked, and then realized Matt was right.

"Just stick around," he said. "Let's watch the moon rise. Remember when we snuck out after curfew to do that at Wammy's?" Matt smiled. He remembered. That had been the night he had finally realized he was in love with his best friend.

It had been Mello's idea of course; he was the rebellious one. Matt was just his willing accomplice. They were young, probably only seven or so, and smarter than an intelligent high school student. There was no real curfew, as long as they stayed in their rooms. Roger assumed they would be smart enough to not stay up all night trying to find a formula to always win at board games and doing other strange things Mello and Matt tended to do. So of course, Mello finally came to the conclusion that they had to do something bolder.

"Like what," Matt had asked, digging around in his dresser trying to find his Gameboy. "I mean, what could we do?"

"Sneak out," Mello replied quietly.

"We've done that before," Matt countered. His fingers closed around the Gameboy and he pulled it into sight triumphantly before turning it on. He was quickly immersed in a realm of blinking lights.

"I mean out of the house," Mello said, still whispering even though no one would have been able to hear them if they were speaking normally. "Maybe we could go to the roof." He spoke casually, but Matt could hardly believe his ears. The roof was the one place that was off limits to _everyone_ in the house. Even Roger never went up there!

"T-the roof?" He asked, hardly able to say the words. "But… that's against the rules!" Mello's face lit up with a familiar mischievous grin.

"So what Mattie," he said, "it's not like this is the first time we've broken the rules! C'mon, it'll be fun." And so, as he had so often done, Matt consented.

"Matt?" Mello's voice snapped him out of his reverie. "Hey, Mattie, are you okay?"

"Huh?" He jumped slightly as he became aware of his friend's face very close to his own. "I… um… yeah! I was just thinking back to when we snuck out at Wammy's, that's all." He shifted a few inches away from Mello, so that their noses were no longer touching.

"Are you cold?" Mello inquired. His eyes were looking into Matt's.

"Er… no, not really," Matt replied, praying that he wasn't blushing. "Why?" Mello shrugged.

"It's just a cold night," he said. "I'm used to it, but… I didn't know if you were." That excuse sounded pathetic, even to Mello. Matt, however, chose to ignore it, and the silence soon settled from awkward to comfortable. The two boys watched the moon rise, as they had those many years before.

When the silver crescent seemed to be above most of the buildings and the stars glowed around it like they were the light shining through holes in the dark cloth of the sky, Mello stood up. Matt was slightly slower in standing, and when he swung his legs away from the edge of the roof, he found Mello's hand waiting for him. The moonlight glinted off of his hair, turning it white-blonde, and his eyes reflected the stars. His scar seemed to hold all the hate in his body; containing it somewhere safe as the other half of his face softened into a genuine kindness. Matt reached up and took Mello's hand, and the latter pulled him to his feet.

For a long, eternal moment, Mello held onto Matt's hand in a sort of half-handshake, until finally, he loosened his grip. Matt's hand hung in the air for a moment, until he snapped out of the stunned trance Mello's grip had put him in and let the digit drop to his side. Mello stood where he was for a moment longer, facing his longtime friend, his mind racing like a thoroughbred at the Kentucky Derby.

And then he turned away. "Come on," he said, "let's go."


End file.
